Thorne Princess(55)

Brat was done three hours later. She wobbled out of the back room toward the register, wincing with each step she took. The artist slipped behind the desk and checked her out. With a faux smile on her face, she snapped her fingers in my direction, like I was her butler. “Pay the man, Lockwood.”

“My apologies, ma’am. I forgot my checkbook in the suite, along with my servant uniform and, apparently, your sanity.” I smiled cordially.

What made her think I’d pay for this shit?

“Cash’ll do. So will a credit card.” She didn’t spare me a look.

“Nonetheless, I’m still not reaching for my wallet.”

“I haven’t received my daily allowance in days,” she reminded me. “Go on. Pay up. That should cover the tattoo and the tip.”

“I’m not paying for this.”

“Well, someone is,” the man behind the desk said, popping the buttons of his leather vest open. “And I ain’t got all day, pals.”

“Gee, I understand,” she sassed, draping herself over his desk seductively. “The last thing we need is a headline, sir. Anthony Thorne’s Daughter Leaves Local Tattoo Shop without Paying Bill.”

Yeah. Hallie Thorne wasn’t dumb. She simply channeled every cell in her brain to being a manipulative little minx.

Reminding myself that I was about to keep her in Texas for a long time, and that was retaliation enough, I took out my wallet and handed him my card.

Brat twirled her way out of the shop, all sunshine and rainbows. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”





After a quick stop at a bridal shop to get her measurements for the maid of honor dress, we drove to her parents’ house in silence. My favorite soundtrack.

About halfway through our journey, she let out a little sigh, and that was when I knew my luck had run out and she was about to start talking.

“I think I might be a horrible person.”

“Finally, a statement we can both get behind.” Was she expecting a pep talk? We were in the midst of a cold war.

“I mean it, Random. I think I am.”

I didn’t want to get to know her better right now. I didn’t want to hear about her woes. In fact, I regretted the moment I made the error of telling her about my humble beginning, but at the time, she’d looked about ready to off herself and a dead client would’ve looked really bad on my résumé.

She stared out her window with a slight pout. I thought I saw a tear sliding down her cheek.

I guess self-realization was part of the ‘grow the fuck up’ itinerary I’d thrust upon her. Sighing, I said, “Why do you think you’re a horrible person?”

“I just realized yesterday that I have no real friends. No real connections. My relationship with my family is in shambles. My life is keeping up appearances. It’s an empty shell.”

I said nothing. If this was her having a breakthrough, it was better she come to the conclusion herself.

“And all those Instagram friends…NeNe and Tara…” She frowned, shaking her head. “They haven’t even called me once since I got here. No one but Keller—he’s the closest, but… Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“No. It is very possible NeNe and Tara don’t know how to operate a phone.”

“I just feel like I’m wasting my life away.”

“You are,” I confirmed. It was the first crack in her tabloid princess persona, and I was going to break the rest of it apart and pull out whatever was hiding underneath.

“What should I do?”

“Get a job. Do something meaningful with your life. Contribute. It’s not like you’re a stranger to altruism,” I gritted out. “You care. Put your good intentions to use.”

“I always thought work was a means to an end. A way to pay for the pleasures of life.”

She looked mesmerized by the idea that doing something with herself was an option, rather than a bad joke.

“Why do you think people who retire deteriorate fast? Humans need to be on the move. Fight or die.”

“But I feel like everyone would love to see me fail.” She bit at her lower lip.

“Prove them wrong.”

“What if I can’t?”

“Then die trying.”

“What’s the point of trying if you fail?”

I smiled grimly. “You look at yourself in the mirror differently. Have you given any thought to what you want to do with your life?”

She inclined her head. No surprises there. To me, the answer was obvious. But she had to realize it herself. It was no good if I handed her the idea. It had to come from her. And, she deserved to choose that for herself, at least. Not like she’d had much say over the rest of her life, not with the family she’d been born into.

“Better come up with something.” I drummed the steering wheel. “It’s part of our process.”

“Okay.” She rolled her shoulders back, sitting straight. “Do you think I’m a decent person?”

We were still on that subject? Jesus.

“I think it doesn’t matter,” I said, and when she opened her mouth to speak again, added, “This conversation is over, Brat.”





The way dinner had gone, I was pleasantly surprised by Brat’s resilience. Her loyalty. She had every reason to write these people off, but she still kept it civilized.